Opinion
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Of the traditional seven last words (or phrases) of Jesus from the cross, the one that always gets me is No. 4. The word of abandonment. It's so bone-chilling that the gospellers wrote it in Jesus's native tongue, Aramaic, followed by the Greek translation so that we'd know exactly what the agonizing words sounded like. "Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani." (My God, my God why have you forsaken me?)

Jesus used to talk of the tight relationship he had with the heavenly Father. The Bible suggests that if you saw one, you saw the other: "I am in the Father and the Father is in me." (John 14:10). You don't get any closer than that.

But on the cross, Jesus grasps for the opening words of Psalm 22 and gasps them when there is nothing he can hear but the sound of his own voice and for all he can tell there's no God around to hear. Where was the affirming voice from heaven Jesus had heard at his baptism and again at his transfiguration?

How do you explain this cry of dereliction from the man of faith? It sounds like the cry of those who feel that no one is listening. God, where are you?

But it is disquieting to hear. Doubts haunt faith. Nobody in any church wants to learn that a person of God struggles with their belief in God.

After her death, Mother Teresa's dark letters emerged. In 1979, for instance, she wrote to Rev. Michael van der Peet, "Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear." She had wanted all her letters destroyed, but the Vatican ordered they be preserved as potential relics of a saint, warts and all.

Lately, I've been asked by two people if I think that there are clergy who have lost their faith but kept their silence and their job. No one knows, of course. There are no stats since closeted clergy can't be counted.

But consider this scenario. If someone in religious authority has pondered the age and span of the cosmos, the elegant simplicity of evolution by natural selection, the violence and corruption in church history, the enigma of expiation for sin by blood sacrifice, the discrepancies in Scripture, the antagonisms and animosities derived from religion fervour, and decided that they can no longer promote the grand scheme of Christianity, what are their options? Stay and cross their fingers? Leave and do something else? What about the family and mortgage payments?

There's a fascinating essay in the journal Evolutionary Psychology titled Preachers who are not Believers. Scientist-philosopher Daniel Dennett and social worker Linda LaScola found five active clergy who were non-believers and who agreed to be interviewed in confidence.

Their frankness is bracing. As one says, "Anybody who goes through seminary and comes out believing in God hasn't been paying attention."

But having had a change of heart, why have these ministers stayed in the pulpit? For some, it was to work for social justice or simply help people. Some don't want to rock the boat. And yes, some work for the paycheque. But they also struggle in a web of concealment trying to figure out how to preach a gospel they no longer believe.

All five pastors were grateful for the chance to talk candidly about their refined unbelief with someone who would challenge and probe them without judging them.

With his 1996 novel In the Beauty of the Lilies, John Updike tells the story of the Wilmot family, which begins around 1910 when Clarence Wilmot, a Presbyterian minister, realizes he no longer believes in God. His loss of faith was a palpable event and his life was shattered by his decision to renounce the pulpit.

His story is fictitious, but what should we say to the Clarences? You're going to burn in hell? You should stay in the ministry and do good?

Are these clergy the tip of an iceberg? No one knows. But unlike a policy of don't ask, don't tell, wouldn't it be better if we could ask anyone any question and hear any answer, however unsettling, without judgment or threat?

No one should have to fib for Jesus.

Rev. Robert Ripley is a retired United Church minister. bob@bobripley.ca